So This is Christmas
Preface
So This is Christmas was the ninth Legendarium entry to be written, and the last before the 2020 hiatus. It is the second that was written entirely by me, and was completed on December 23rd, 2019. It is distinct from most of the other 2019 Legendariums by being completed after the completion of all three volumes of The Story so Far, incorporating characters from Volumes I and II, the latter of whom in what was, at the time, their earliest chronological appearance, before the creation of Lakewood: Year One.
Narratively, this isn’t the most revelatory of the entries, and features a variety of disconnected vignettes documenting Christmas Eve in Lakewood, between the Lakewood Slashings and Lakewood Thrashings of Volumes I and II. The characters portrayed are all characters I had been portraying by December 2019, either from the beginning of The Final Retreat, or through early recasts (as in the case of Ryan Keller). Some other characters were victims in Volume II, who had prior to this only appeared in The Story so Far.
Since I was the sole writer of this entry, it was not subject to a heavy edit during the 2020 hiatus, though I expect some minor cosmetic changes may have been made. The version presented below is a slightly edited (for syntax) iteration of the 2020 edition.
So This is Christmas
“Okay, are you ready?”
“A little less every time you ask!” Brooke sing-songed as she lifted her hands to her head.
“Don’t take it off!”
“Gotta be the first time you’ve said that,” but she let go of her blindfold all the same.
“Okay, okay…” a shuffling sound, “Ready!”
“I can take it off?”
“Wait.”
“You suck.”
“No, lemme…”
“Jake!”
“Ta-da!” he removed the blindfold with a flourish. Brooke blinked to let her eyes adjust, “Jake, if it isn’t a Maserati, I swear to…”
He’d gotten down on one knee before her, smiling like a schoolboy.
Brooke stared bemusedly, “Did you hit your head?”
“Don’t ruin the moment, Brooke,” he held out a velvet box.
“Jake, you didn’t have to buy me jewelry!” she cooed, claiming the box anyway, “You never asked for my ring size!”
“They have ring sizes?”
“Oh my God, I hope you got a gift rec…” she opened the box and the remaining words died on her lips.
It wasn’t a ring, but a necklace: a pretty silver bird, perched on a twig, head tilted up as if in song.
“Oh, Jake, it’s beautiful,” she held the charm up to the light, “But I don’t…”
“Wait,” he swooped in, gently taking the necklace from her, “I got this,” and began fussing with the clasp, “Aw, damn…”
“You need some help with that?” she asked, unable to suppress a laugh.
“No, I can do it…”
“Jake…”
“I can do it, babe!”
“I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself…”
“It can’t be that hard…”
“No, it’s like a mini bra clasp, and we know you’ve got no trouble there…”
“Don’t make me laugh: I’ll drop it.”
“Look, il Padre’s chestnuts aren’t gonna stay warm all night. If I’m not back in time for Midnight Mass, he’ll send out the hounds.”
“Got it!” he whooped, “The Jake: 1…”
“Little bird: Also 1,” Brooke admired herself in the looking glass over the Fitzgeralds’ mantlepiece, “It’s crooked.”
“Shit, really?”
“I like it crooked,” she kissed him, “Gives it pizzazz,” she patted the charm, “I was gonna ask before…why the robin?”
“Robin?” he blinked blankly.
“Jake…”
“It, uh, wow. I didn’t know it was…that.”
“Thank God I didn’t ask for clothes.”
“It’s supposed to be a mockingbird.”
Brooke met Jake’s eyes, hearing the music box in the back of her mind and, with it, the yapping of a sheepdog, the splash of bodies diving into the lake, the laugh of a blond, bumbling, beautiful farm boy…
“I love it,” she wrapped her arms around him, “And at the risk of delivering Hallmark Christmas movie cheese…”
“You love me too?”
“Don’t belabor it,” she kissed him again.
“Merry Christmas, Brooke.”
“Merry Christmas, Jake.”
“So, uh…what’s belabor mean?”
“I don’t really know. I just heard it somewhere.”
“Oh,” he grinned, “Cool,” and kissed her a third time.
“My All-Star!” Zach’s Mom beamed as she adjusted his tie, “All grown-up.”
“Mom…”
“But not too grown-up,” she held up a finger, “I reserve the right to baby you while I still can. Deal?”
Zach couldn’t keep from smiling, “Deal.”
She put her hands on his shoulders, “Your Dad’s gonna flip to see you.”
“I don’t know. I feel kinda stupid.”
“You look very dignified.”
“I don’t feel dignified!”
“Oh, Zach…” she patted his cheek, “That’s the whole point.”
His mother always went nuts for the holidays: fresh pine garlands on the railings, holly sprigs in the chandelier, the tree glowing from a thousand different golden vessels as a model train trundled around it in a circle.
His father stood in the shadow of the tree, glass of cognac in hand, “Zachary.”
“Hey, Dad,” he answered reflexively, “Sir. Merry Christmas.”
Sam Henderson studied his son from head to toe, “You’ll need a haircut.”
Zach deflated. During dinner, his mother reached over to muss his hair when his father wasn’t looking. They shared a smile, and things suddenly seemed not quite so bad.
“Okay, let’s see what we’ve got here…” Tina Hudson rifled through two tremendous plastic bags on the cluttered kitchen counter, “Wonton soup, pork fried rice, my man General Tso and his chickens…”
“Just like the wise men had,” quipped Eli as he set two paper plates on the table.
“They came from China, didn’t they?”
“They came from somewhere,” he said lightly, “‘East’ is the imperative word.”
“Imperative, huh?”
“It means important.”
“You sound important, talking like that.”
“Well, Ma, that’s the point.”
Tina cackled under her breath, “Eh, you’re going places, kid.”
“In point of fact,” Eli smirked, “I am.”
At which point Tina finally noticed the jacket her son was wearing, “On Christmas Eve?”
“Got a stop I’ve gotta make. I’ll be back for dinner.”
“You’d better be. You get jumped tonight, ain’t no cops around to come help you.”
“Ma,” he paused, “I can take care of myself.”
Tina was quiet for a short time, “Yeah,” she clapped her hands together with some finality, “Yeah, pookeyface. I know you can.”
Eli found his quarry beneath an overpass in Edgewood. He walked slowly, so as not to attract any undesired attention, his head tucked into a scarf and bowed low.
She was in her usual spot, huddled up against the cold, weirdly independent of the other indigents who’d found their way to this benighted place.
“Merry Christmas, Dee,” he held up a delivery bag, “Hope you like shrimp dumplings.”
Ryan sat up straight at the sound of rattling against the bars. He instinctively reached for the sharp plastic implement under his pillow…
“Keller!” a hand grabbed his arm and Ryan lifted the shiv with the other…
“Jesus, dude!”
“Fuck!” Ryan pulled back, looking his cellmate up and down, “I could’ve killed you.”
“I know.”
“What do you want, man? It’s late.”
“It’s Christmas.”
“For fuck’s sake.”
“Sorry,” he folded his arms, “I figured…yanno, back home we would wait up ’til midnight and open gifts.”
“Oh,” Ryan blinked, “That’s nice.”
“It’s stupid, but…I guess I got lonely.”
“Lonely,” Ryan repeated.
“Well, didn’t you ever do stuff for Christmas? Like with your folks?”
“My Mom did.”
“Oh yeah? What?”
“Dads getting away from the holiday, mostly.”
“…oh.”
“Look,” Ryan swung his legs out of the cot, “I don’t want to burst your bubble or anything, but if you wanna share fuzzy Christmas memories, you’re talking to the wrong guy.”
“So you never had, like…Christmas? Gifts and dinner and…”
“Dude, what the fuck are you in here for? Public rudeness?”
“I, uh, peed at a bus stop and a cop caught me.”
“So we’ve had different experiences. Makes sense.”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t have Christmas.”
“If you say it like it’s a magic word one more time…”
“Okay, okay!” he lifted his hands in surrender, “I’m sorry.”
Ryan rolled his eyes, “What’re you apologizing for?”
“Just…” he sighed, “I guess for Christmas.”
“Forget it, man,” he stared at the bottom of the bunk above him, “Don’t let it get to you.”
He could hear his cellmate (What was his name, anyway? Probably bad that he didn’t know that) clambering up the ladder, the whole frigging thing creaking and groaning under his weight.
Ryan sighed, “Hey?”
“Hm?”
“Merry Christmas.”
There was a tiny chuckling noise, “Yeah. You too.”
“Dora, it is always a beautiful thing hearing your voice!”
“And yours, Auntie,” Theodora smiled, pressing the phone to her ear with her shoulder as she readjusted the oven tray.
“You cooking?”
“Reheating pasta. You’d be ashamed.”
“Still eating for one, huh? God bless you.”
“You humor me.”
“Listen, Dora. Your sainted mother and all our sisters had their Christmases with kids, grandkids, and Baby Jesus all sitting around the table. Lord love them all, but I’m the only sister left.”
“And bound to live forever.”
“God, I hope not. But you get more mileage out of some peace and quiet. Family’s best in small doses.”
“All the same, I feel like a heel not visiting you. Things have just been so hectic here since…”
“You don’t have to explain to me; I know the whole story. Terrible thing, and all those kids…”
“The whole district’s in for mandatory crisis prevention courses in the new year. I expect we’ll be trained on how to stop a spree killer by throwing textbooks and pencil sharpeners.”
“You know, Dora, I do worry about you.”
“And that’s very kind of you, Auntie, but I can take care of myself.”
“Doesn’t mean you have to. Why don’t you…”
Theodora sighed, “My dear, I can’t retire. Not for a good long time yet, I’m afraid.”
“Dora, I don’t like to talk smack about people…”
“It’s not just Carter’s fault.”
“If he hadn’t made an ass of himself, it might be you wouldn’t have to depend on yourself for everything!”
“The past, Aunt Kay. Even if Carter and I had stayed together…” she paused, searching for the right words, “I must keep at it. Not just for the money but…to make something of it.”
“Ah, Dora…one day you’ll learn you don’t have to prove anything to anybody.”
“Would that were true, Auntie,” Theodora sighed.
“But you’re your own worst critic,” the old woman let out one of her musical little laughs, “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Not on Christmas. Or any other time, but Christmas is as good a time to start as any.”
“I will try,” Theodora smiled, “Consider it a New Year’s resolution. Perhaps I’ll be the first person to ever keep one.”
“You’d better be. Merry Christmas, Dora.”
“Merry Christmas, Auntie.”
“Someday at Christmas, men won’t be boys/Playing with bombs like kids play with toys…”
“Liberal hippie claptrap!” Fitz declared dismissively, switching off the radio, “I tell you, I wish I had a bomb to play with.”
“No you don’t,” said Quinn, not moving from the drawing room window, “Responsibility’s a real bitch.”
Fitz cocked an eyebrow, “Still waiting for the Princess?”
“She’s probably getting plowed by that Fitzgerald towhead.”
“Thank you for that.”
“You think I like thinking about it?”
“Then don’t! Allow festive images to cavort in your mind. Sugarplum fairies and all the rest of that.”
“Would that it were that easy.”
“You bother yourself excessively, Quinn. It’s really quite sad.”
“And you’re Mr. Nice and Breezy, yes?”
“If your daughter is late, she’s late! I don’t expect to see my scab until the Feast of Three Kings!” Fitz let that linger for a bit before venturing, “We could always go to Mass together…”
“Fitz?”
“Yes?”
“Stop it.”
“Of course,” Fitz cleared his throat, “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry merry.”
It was a tradition on Christmas Eve to visit the cemetery and pay respects at Helen’s grave. This year, though, there were two stops that needed to be made.
Howard hadn’t felt it appropriate to hover as Audrey said whatever she needed to say to Rachel, so he’d wandered between the columns of headstones to his initial destination.
“Hello, Helen,” he smiled, “A lot’s happened since I visited you last. To be honest, I’m not sure what to make of it. Something tells me that you would know. You were always…sharper on these things than I. Things seem determined to keep getting harder. Such is age, I suppose. Perhaps it’s wrong for me to question you not being here. Perhaps I should trust in God to see the way through,” he sighed heavily, “Every Christmas is a challenge, Helen, but I haven’t felt so hopeless before this one. But I know what you would say: that it’s the little pinpricks on the canvas that make landscapes. That if I keep looking ahead with far eyes, I will never not feel hopeless. You lived by example, Helen. I suppose I must learn to do the same.”
He bowed his head and kissed two fingers, which he pressed lightly to the letters etched into the marble.
“Merry Christmas, my love.”